The weather continues to get nicer and nicer, and now that daylight saving is on, I can actually walk home along the canal without have to tackle the treacherous paths in the dark (not actually treacherous, of course, the British would not allow that, but paved with dogshit).
This tree clearly did not get the memo that it’s spring, but its time will come, I’m sure.
Still no ducklings or swans, though.
We went to the canal this afternoon, in the hopes of seeing baby ducks and coots, but all we found were drakes and male coots. I assume the females are all sitting on eggs, or at least I hope so.
In any case, these drakes gave us a fine example of synchronised swimming, with a nod to seventies decor as well. What more could you want?
I have a bad relationship with hair stylists (and waxers, and masseurs, and even physiotherapists and dentists – people who do things to my body). I don’t dislike having my hair done, but I always feel self-conscious asking for things, and unable to explain what I want, and secretly thinking how much they much hate working on my hair, and who am I fooling, anyway, trying to look nice. Plus, the noise and the trying to make conversation over it, it all adds up to a bad experience for all concerned (or at least for me).
Throughout my life, I have worn my hair two ways – long, straight, unaltered and usually tied back or up, and short, really short. Sometimes, it’s been in transition between those two states, but it’s usually one or the other, on a kind of five-year cycle. This is about two years into short, and I somehow don’t think I’m going back. In fact, I’d like it even shorter, but I suspect I’d look a bit TOO scary. This was done today, and for the first time, I’ve gone a bit blonder, rather than redder or darker. I’m not sure about it, but there it is, it’s just hair.
This is one of three little glass lamps I bought in Delhi. One green, one amber and one indigo. I think of these lamps as Arabian, since they were for sale all across Dubai, but I suspect they’re common across the region. I love lamps and candles and so on, which is odd, because my usual choice of actual lighting is blinding. I hate not being able to see. I suppose I should say that I love the idea of lamps and candles – probably the dregs of my catholic upbringing coming out.
This is a black-faced dorper sheep, a particularly South African sheep, bred for the Karoo, mostly. I used to be a vegetarian, and one of the reasons I’m not any more is because in many parts of the world, the terrain is simply not suited to growing crops, and the only way to survive is to find the toughest, hardiest animals you can, and breed them for meat. This is the point of the dorper sheep – very little thrives in the karoo, and one cannot live on prickly pears alone (nice as they are).
Obviously, this is not an actual sheep. I bought her in Johannesburg, and as a piece of beadwork she wasn’t cheap, but I was so taken with her curly coat I had to have her.
I am really enjoying spring, I must say. It’s sunny, it’s slightly crisp, but not too cold, things are sprouting, birds are singing. Tomorrow I think I’m going to go to the canal to look for ducklings. I’m starting to understand all that English poetry about the wonders of spring in this country.
Believe it or not, it was a brilliantly clear morning when I took this. The foggy effect is the glare of the sun against the none-too-clean windows. I suppose I should consider washing them, but I think I can safely say I have never once washed the outside windows of a place I lived in. I’ve lived most of my adult life in flats, and washing the outsides of windows is very much the landlord’s job, as far as I’m concerned.
This little beastie is borage, I think, that Martin is sprouting on the windowsill. They’re all tiny, but such a delicate shade of green, and so cute, I couldn’t resist. It is the equinox, after all.
There’s something so English to me about red brick and rusty tools leaning up against a shed. This isn’t a shed – it’s a roofless enclosure behind the kitchen that collects crap. It has the remains of a floor and once had a roof and door and I suspect when the house was built it was the toilet. The kitchen and bathroom are clearly new extensions to the house, so this would have been the only plumbing around. I have a friend here, my age, who grew up in a house just down the road with no indoor plumbing. They used to visit her gran for baths. I find this amazing, to be honest.
No, it’s not upside down. This wallpaper is the reason I could never have Chinese friends or colleagues over to visit. Aside from being unbelievably tacky, yes, it’s upside down.
I really can’t imagine what the people who owned this house were thinking.
